Dumbledore watched Harry from the head table, eyes twinkling—but behind them, alarms blared.
This was not the boy he had prepared for. This Harry didn't flinch. Didn't defer. Didn't trust.
And worse… he remembered.
Harry chewed thoughtfully on a piece of roast beef, analyzing Dumbledore through every possible lens—magical, divine, mutant, and technological. Echo sat by his feet, invisible to all but Harry, growling low.
"Target acquired. High probability: Manipulative Bastard," his AI HUD read in his glasses. A gift from Tony Stark.
He had a plan.
Later That Night – Gryffindor Tower
Ron waited for Harry, thinking they'd be best friends. Instead, Harry walked past him without a word.
He wasn't in Gryffindor. He wasn't in any house. He was Hogwarts.
The portraits bowed as he passed. The Founders' spirits had already made contact. Salazar's basilisk stirred beneath the school, recognizing his heir's return.
The Marauder's Map—unlocked and upgraded—showed him everything.
And so he waited. Because Dumbledore would move. He always did.
Dumbledore's Office – Midnight
The Headmaster read reports. Harry Potter had:
Bought out 30% of Gringotts' shares
Taken ownership of the Black estate
Claimed the ancestral wand of Merlin
Secured the loyalty of the goblins and centaurs
Been seen with a baby raptor
And somehow, he now had clearance from S.H.I.E.L.D.
He'd even rebuilt the Hallows—and merged them with Stark technology.
Dumbledore summoned Snape.
"We must begin damage control. Slowly."
Snape nodded.
But Harry was already ten steps ahead.
Next Morning – Defense Against the Dark Arts
Professor Quirrell stuttered through a lesson. Harry didn't listen.
Instead, he stood.
"Professor," he said coldly. "You're hosting a fragment of Voldemort. I advise exorcism."
Quirrell's face twisted. "Wh-what—?"
Harry snapped his fingers. A rune-glow burst through the air. A blast of divine light struck Quirrell—Voldemort's shade screamed.
Gone.
Gasps echoed through the room.
He turned to the stunned class.
"You're welcome. You were never safe."
Then he looked directly at the enchanted ceiling.
"I'm coming for the rest of them too."
In his pocket, a message from Death itself shimmered into view:
"Step one complete. Seven more traitors remain."
Harry smiled.
The reckoning had begun.